Page 51 of Fated Flames: Volume Two
With sudden alarm, I realize that I’ve revealed far more to Marta than I meant to. Everyone is supposed to think Soren and I are two fated flames so wild with desire that we couldn’t wait until the ceremony to be together. The panic must show because she gives me a kind smile.
“Princess, I’m not going to tell anyone,” she says. “I’m the one who reminded Soren that you’re human and told him he best control himself until after the ceremony. No one was there to tell Rally, and I thought I’d go mad trying to keep his hands off me. For weeks, I carried a wooden spoon with me to fend him off. Still do, at times.”
I can’t help a weak laugh. A thought strikes me then, along with a surprising amount of concern over the answer.
“Was I meant to give him a gem when he gave me mine?”
She shakes her head. “No, only females are given a gift for the first mating.”
Of course. Because what are the odds that the act is the male’s first time? Likely none, just as men aren’t expected to save themselves for marriage or their wives. The thought puts me in a dour mood.
“Just so you know,” Marta says softly, “to a dragon, that stone is the same as marriage vows.” She touches the emerald at her throat. “When Rally gave me this, I became his, and he became mine. I’ll never be a dragon, but for just that moment, I felt as if I might fly like one.”
Her words send a jolt of surprise through me.
I felt the exact sensation when I accepted the gem from Soren. I told myself it was the heat causing the strange fluttering that traveled along my limbs, urging me to lift my arms to the skies.
What type of magic makes two different women feel the same thing?
I’m about to mention this to Marta when in walks Soren, still shirtless and bearing an enormous platter of desserts, all of them drenched in chocolate.
Flustered by his appearance and still reeling from embarrassment, I lift the sapphire on its chain and say, “When were you planning on telling me about this?”
20
Soren regards the gem without emotion, reminding me not of the man who just whisked me through the night sky, but of the stone-faced one who met me at the docks.
The one who threatened to let my people starve if I didn’t come to him.
He’s retracted his wings, and so he stalks with ease through the tent, lowering the tray between Marta and me. With great restraint, I disregard the way his bicep bulges as he does.
“You’ll have to be more specific, Princess,” he says.
I fold my lips together. Feigning ignorance is hardly noble. “The meaning of your gift. When did you plan on making it known to me?”
“I believe that was my minister’s job,” he says, crossing the room to a brass teatable. Taking up the teapot there, he sets his palm to the bottom and conjures up a handful of flames, instantly forcing steam from the spout. I wonder if he expects me to be cowed by the demonstration.
I’m not.
“Tea, Marta?” he asks.
“Oh, yes,” she says with glee.
I shoot her a look as Soren turns back to the table.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers through a grin. “I’ve just never seen him squirm like this.”
I stare at her. Squirm?
“And you, Princess?” the king calls, keeping his back turned as he does. “Would you like some?”
I’m still looking at Marta in confusion. Nothing about Soren indicates squirming. If anything, he’s being stubborn, predictably so. Or do I understand men—drakes?—that little? Marta lifts her brows and gestures for me to say something.
“I would like an answer to my question,” I say, eyes on her. “Thank you.”
She nods approvingly.
Soren’s shoulders, already stiff, climb higher, but when he faces us with cups in hand, his features are schooled into perfect indifference.
